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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309637">Daydream of a Life You'd Choose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Life You'd Choose [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous amount of head canons, Hallow's End, Kid Fic, Love Is in the Air (Warcraft), M/M, Original Character(s), Parent/Child Incest, Pilgrim's Bounty, Pregnancy, Trans Male Character, holiday fics, pumpkin patch, winter's veil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:21:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Four fics, featuring The Wrynns, set during Hallow's End, Pilgrim's Bounty, Winter's Veil and Love is in the Air.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anduin Wrynn/Varian Wrynn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Life You'd Choose [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007331</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Tucked in, green wind put my head down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I keep writing the nsfw insinuations of these two having children without the actual follow-through. So, here it is! Each chapter will be posted on the IRL holiday.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ian’s shrill screech echoed throughout the pumpkin patch, sending ravens to the high heavens and probably irritating every curmudgeon in Elwynn Forest. <em> Hell </em>, Varian supposed adventurers in Westfall could hear his child’s infernal howling as he ran halfway down a row of orange gourds, without allowing his father a moment to catch his breath. </p><p> </p><p>Crisp autumn air collected in Varian’s lungs, only to be expelled in the form of a small chuckle to himself. </p><p> </p><p>No, as if forgetting he had an escort, the little prince raced towards his desired prize: a rather hideous, misshapen pumpkin. Not surprising. Of all pumpkins, it <em> would </em>be that one, wouldn’t it? Ian, much like his mother, saw beauty and wonder Varian was often blind to.  </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, as Varian hobbled over to where his child kneeled in front of <em> his </em> pumpkin, several eyes fell upon the pair. They glared as if to say <em> , how can you not control your grandchild when you used to be a king? </em>  </p><p> </p><p>Varian’s mood soured. Behind his tongue, he held back a biting, <em> Why don't you try wrangling an excited eight-year-old, on Hallow's End, at my age?  </em></p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, it was far more practical to grumble, “Don’t yell so loud!” At the very least, Varian could demonstrate an <em>attempt </em>at some form of parenting. </p><p> </p><p>Ian, inspecting his pumpkin’s various worts and contours with his little fingers, waited for Varian to stand directly at his back before peering up at him. In a whisper as soft as his Alliance-crested blue sweater, he replied, "Sorry, dad." </p><p> </p><p>A prickle of anxiety raced down Varian’s spine. He whipped his head over each shoulder, ensuring the absence of any curious ears. By the Light's good fortune, they retained their privacy - but only just given their proximity to other people. </p><p> </p><p>"Ian," Varian hissed beneath his breath. "We're in public." </p><p> </p><p>Ian's sea-green eyes fell to his dirt-stained knees. "I know, that's why I whispered it." </p><p> </p><p>Guilt replaced the agitation churning in Varian’s stomach. Like most children with a single parent, they had no fault or say in that circumstance. Ian retained very little control over the secret that kept his family apart - at least in the eyes of their people. He only suffered the consequences wrought by Varian and Anduin’s deviancy, such as the inability to acknowledge<em> his own father</em> outside of their royal apartments. </p><p> </p><p>To Azeroth, the man who sired Ian lost his life at sea. They didn’t know that his true progenitor still tucked him in at night, kissed his boo-boos, and took him to pumpkin patches to select gourds to carve for Hallow’s End. </p><p> </p><p>“Just - be more careful, okay?” Varian sighed before he, too, fell on his knees. “What are you thinking with this one?” </p><p> </p><p>The issue forgotten in that split-second, Ian chattered away about his various ideas: a witch, a blighthound, maybe even the face of a dreadlord? Something frightening, for sure! “Will you help me?” </p><p> </p><p>Varian grinned wolfishly. Moments like these, basking in Ian’s enthusiasm for even the most mundane of tasks, made every hardship they faced to bring this boy to life worthwhile. He couldn’t imagine an existence without Anduin by his side and their son growing like a weed before their very eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Varian kissed the crown of Ian’s brunette head; no matter what Ian chose, his father would help bring his ideas to life. “Of course, son.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Night out, I'm wrecked, it's been a long day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Within the hot, humid bowels of Stormwind Keep’s active kitchens, Anduin resisted the urge to tear his hair out and scream. It would do no good for the king to lose his Light-damned mind over another catering fiasco after all. Not when the cooking staff, hospitality personnel, and event planners looked to him for reason and guidance - literally. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Their stares were maddening.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Within the hot, humid bowels of Stormwind Keep’s active kitchens, Anduin resisted the urge to tear his hair out and scream. It would do no good for the king to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lose his Light-damned mind</span>
  </em>
  <span> over another catering fiasco after all. Not when the cooking staff, hospitality personnel, and event planners looked to him for reason and guidance - literally. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their stares were maddening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get it together, Wrynn. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He took a calming breath, and re-read the note shoved into his hands a moment prior. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>According to the hastily-scrawled memo, an order Anduin placed </span>
  <em>
    <span>three whole months ago</span>
  </em>
  <span> for thirty-or-so turkeys had somehow been misplaced.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We can try to place smaller orders at neighboring poultry farms,” Mia offered. “Thirty birds can’t be that hard to find, can it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Elghast, the head holiday chef, shook his head. “Given that it is the day of Pilgrim’s Bounty, it’s doubtful we’ll find much luck going that route. I’m afraid the next best course of action would be to call upon some champions. Only they can hunt enough wild birds to meet the needs of your guests in time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“On Pilgrim’s Bounty?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Anduin turned to find Ian carrying a container of uncooked cookie dough. Oh. Damn. In the kerfuffle of the day, Anduin had forgotten to keep the baking appointment he had with his son! His chest </span>
  <em>
    <span>ached</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ian handed his bowl to one of the bakers crowding around Anduin, muttering a small thank you to him, before pitter-pattering over to Elghast. With all the air and authority of a royal prince, he added, “It’s a holiday. They should be spending that time with their family or their guild. Not hunting in the forest for food they won’t even get to eat! That’s not fair.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>A swell of pride crashed over Anduin’s chest. What a compassionate, empathetic little boy he and Varian had raised! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Elghast sighed. “I’m sorry, my boy, but there isn’t much choice in the matter. I hate the idea as much as you do, believe me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ian shook his head, brows furrowed and lips pinched; it struck Anduin then how much Ian looked like his father. “No, sir. I can’t believe that in all of Stormwind, we don’t have any other food we can make! What about the crabs in the canals? The lobsters in the harbor? Just the other day, I saw two whole cows in the basement icebox!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Everyone in the room looked to one another, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. All of their expressions seemed to speak the same sentiment: </span>
  <em>
    <span>why had no one else thought of that? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mia recovered first. She placed her hands on her hips. With a smirk twitching at the corner of her lips, she said, “My grandson has more brains than all of us put together. A true future king.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>(Anduin didn’t miss how Ian visibly preened at the praise.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s certainly not traditional, but we can make it work," Elghast replied, rubbing his chin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fortunately for Anduin and Ian, the rest of the day's mishaps could be dealt with while baking cookies for Stormwind's orphans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Ian looks more and more like you every day," Anduin murmured against Varian’s bare, sweat-slick chest as they laid together in bed. Without a thought to the action, his fingers continued to rake through the copious salt-and-pepper hair between his lover’s pectorals. "Acts like it, too." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Varian made a pleased rumble. The arm snaked around Anduin’s shoulder tightened. "Two against one. Finally, a member of this family who won't argue with every command I make." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We'll just have to have another to even the odds," Anduin chuckled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Varian remained silent for a long while. By the time he opened his mouth to retort, Anduin found himself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, playful banter forgotten in his sleepiness. "Let's...I would like another…" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>Anduin’s eyes flew open. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's okay; we're not having turkey either, but that's because no one really likes it in my family lmao. </p>
<p>Anyway, kudos and comments validate my pitiful existence.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fight the frost of the morning blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>What! But - that wasn’t fair! The orphans, as far as Ian knew, were good all year! Surely, they deserved toys just as much as - if not more than - he did!</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>A sense of resolution puffed Ian’s chest. “I’m going to talk to the King,” he promised. “He will fix this.”</i></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas! And Happy Holidays!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ian hobbled into the family parlor room, feet heavy, bleary-eyed, and unable to keep himself from yawning every other moment. If not for his scheduled playdate later that morning, he would have gone back to sleep (assuming his mother allowed such indolence.) In any case, he shuffled his way to the breakfast table, where his mother and father conversed about various Winter’s Veil preparations for Stormwind in cheerful tones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recognizing Ian’s added presence, Anduin exclaimed around a bright smile, “Good morning, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi vida! ¿Cómo amaneciste?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleepy,” Ian croaked as he slumped in his usual chair. He reached for a scone, kept warm by a cloth covering the basket of assorted pastries. Bringing the baked good to his mouth, he peered up at his mother - only to find his lips now pursed. Oh. Right. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cansado</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Varian rolled his eyes and sighed. “Leave the boy alone, dear,” he chuckled. After a quick sip of some coffee, he added, “It’s the weekend and far too early for language lessons.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Anduin snorted into his own mug. “How else is he supposed to practice </span>
  <em>
    <span>tu idioma</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sweetheart?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mi idioma </span>
  </em>
  <span>is Common,” Varian corrected. “No one speaks the language of my people anymore. I’d rather he learn something useful like -” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Orcish?” Ian suggested with a snicker. Oh! He took pleasure in the way his father’s expression faltered for half a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t last long. Soon after, a smirk pulled at the corner of Varian’s lips, and a mischievous glint gleamed in his sea-green eyes. “Orcish? Why Orcish?” the previous king laughed. His fingers found Ian’s sides, tickling them. “Do you have some orcish lady friend somewhere you want to impress, huh?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No!” Ian screeched, squirming away from his father’s assault. “I’m only seven!” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s right!” Varian replied. Ending his attack, he leaned down to kiss his boy on the cheek. “And you’ll always be our baby!” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Anduin guffawed into his spare hand, cheeks ruddy and grin bright. “Alright, you two! Let’s finish breakfast. Ian, I’ll walk you to the orphanage, okay?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ian nodded. “Mmhmm. Thanks, mommy.”  </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Ian attempted to bounce a ball into Elenor’s square, but the half-deflated toy simply melded to the ground near her feet. Although no complaint fell from her mouth, a wrinkle formed above her nose. Ian suspected she found this activity as much “fun” as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elanor picked up the ball and repeated the process with Stephen. But instead of retrieving it from where it sat, he rolled the sad piece of rubber back and forth with his scuffed shoe. A grimace curled his top lip. “This sucks. I don’t want to play anymore.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Guilt sat cold and low in Ian’s tummy. He thought of the five or so pristine balls he had at home. Why hadn’t he thought to bring them along?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the past few months of these weekly playdates, Ian </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>taken note of how worn his friend’s toys were. And with each new visit, they seemed to suffer further and further from the ravages of time and overuse. In fact, the children played outside - in the cold - due to the orphanage’s lack of puzzles and board games with </span>
  <em>
    <span>crucial </span>
  </em>
  <span>pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh! So excited to play with his friends, Ian hadn’t thought of their predicament and simply waltzed his way into their home with nothing to show for his gratitude! </span>
  <em>
    <span>If I’m to become king, I need to pay more attention! </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>Next week, Ian assured himself that he would bring his own equipment. But what would his friends do in the interim? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh! I know! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you ask Greatfather Winter for a new ball? And games?” Ian suggested. After all, Greatfather Winter had blessed </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a pile of presents that seemed to grow larger with each new night. In the family parlor room, they sat waiting to be unwrapped the morning of the grand feast. But surely, the matrons would allow the orphans to open their presents early this year given the sorry state of things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephen and Eleanor shuffled on their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The matrons told us that Greatfather Winter is only bringing us clothes this year,” Eleanor explained. “We’ll have to wait for donations of toys.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And because of the pox, there might not be enough donations for </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Stephen added bitterly beneath his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What! But - that wasn’t fair! The orphans, as far as Ian knew, were good all year! Surely, they deserved toys just as much as - if not more than - he did! </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A sense of resolution puffed Ian’s chest. “I’m going to talk to the King,” he promised. “He will fix this.” </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Ian paced in front of the Lion Seat, searching for the right words to convince</span>
  <em>
    <span> King Wrynn</span>
  </em>
  <span> to introduce him to Greatfather Winter - a grand faux pas as was once explained to him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You know, baby,” Anduin began from where he sat upon the throne (at Ian’s insistence). “You didn’t have to ‘request an audience’ with me. We can just talk. Mother-to-Son.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to make this official,” Ian replied, striding to-and-fro uninterrupted. He wanted to ensure his request received the proper gravity it deserved. Plus, funneling it through the proper channels added some degree of accountability. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>With a small smile, Anduin chortled, “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll be ready when you are.” He relaxed against his seat and waited. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Minutes ticked by, but Ian never became </span>
  <em>
    <span>ready</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No, he only grew more and more frustrated with his inability to express his need to right the injustices he had discovered. All of his imagined speeches either contained too much or too little emotion. No, no, no! Would he fail his friends here too? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Ian paused his treading to wipe at his sodden eyes. And within a heartbeat, a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around Ian’s trembling shoulders. “Tell me what you’re feeling,” his mother’s soft voice drifted into his ear, sending a rush of calm to relax his tense form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to see Greatfather Winter,” Ian hiccuped despite himself. “I want to know why I get presents but my friends don’t.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A pregnant pause filled the space between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your friends at the orphanage?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ian nodded against his mother’s shoulder. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Anduin withdrew from their embrace. Holding onto Ian’s upper arms, he sat back on his heels so their gazes could meet. To his burgeoning hope, Ian found determination written on the lines of his mother’s expression. “I’ll speak with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greatfather Winter,</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t you worry. The orphans will get presents this year, I promise.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There seemed to be an edge to his mother’s voice! Did that mean there was a chance of failure? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if that doesn’t work -” Ian began, worrying his hands. “Well, I-I know it’s rude to give away my presents, but I don’t need them this year. I just want my friends to be happy. Can I do that? Give my presents to my friends?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anduin’s cerulean blues flooded with a sudden burst of unshed tears. Oh no! Had he made his mother sad?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, blessedly, Anduin grinned. “You’re going to make a wonderful king one day, Ian,” he choked out. “...and an amazing big brother.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Big brother? </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Oh! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It dawned on Ian, and with that, he gasped out, “Mommy? Are you -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anduin nodded. “I’m pregnant, sweetheart. Your brother or sister will be born in the summer. But don’t tell your father just yet. That’s his Winter’s Veil surprise, okay? In fact, I know just the way you can help me with announcing it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian grinned. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Ian appreciated all of the presents gathered around him, especially after learning there had been a miscommunication between Greatfather Winter, the nobles, and the orphanage. It had been a relief to discover the nobles had relayed Greatfather Winter’s message incorrectly, and that his friends </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>receive proper gifts in time for the grand feast. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Regardless, in spite of Ian’s gratitude, it put a sour note on the toys he had received. How could he enjoy having so much while everyone else seemed to have so little? </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And so, Ian announced his decision to ask Greatfather Winter to redistribute next year’s intended gifts to the children of Stormwind. His father appeared oddly disappointed by that declaration; Ian attributed this to Varian’s insistence on organizing the growing piles of toys with such loving care each holiday. On the other hand, his mother seemed to glow.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>On that note, Anduin suggested, “Why don’t you tell daddy the phrase you practiced for Winter’s Veil?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, man. The time has come! </span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ian schooled his expression into neutrality. With as much calm and poise as he could, he stood from his seat and made his way before his father. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Light</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his heart threatened to beat out of his chest! After a deep breath, he recited the phrase he had practiced with Anduin for an entire week: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“¡Voy a ser un hermano mayor!” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>Varian cocked his head to the side. Blinking several times, his scarred mouth went through a spectrum of configurations until it settled on a wolfish grin. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are you serious? You’re joking.” Varian turned to Anduin. “He’s joking?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Anduin shook his head. Another wave of tears - a familiar sight in those days - flooded his eyes. Through the hands that made their way to his mouth, he replied, “He’s not joking. I’m ...Varian, I’m pregnant.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Varian snatched Ian and Anduin into the </span>
  <em>
    <span>tightest </span>
  </em>
  <span>vice grip. Between them, he murmured wetly, “This is the best Winter’s Veil I’ve ever had.” </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ian had to agree. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and comments feeds the brain mouse!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. We could build a house away from here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Anduin rested his sweat-slick forehead against his gloved palm, giving his mind another sensation to focus on other than the crippling nausea plaguing him. In the silence of his throne room - earned by begging his guards for a moment’s reprieve from holiday revelers - he made internal calculations. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eleven weeks. I’m eleven weeks along. Just one more to go before this subsides.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You thought you'd seen the last of me! </p><p>Happy Valentine's Day!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anduin rested his sweat-slick forehead against his gloved palm, giving his mind another sensation to focus on other than the crippling nausea plaguing him. In the silence of his throne room - earned by begging his guards for a moment’s reprieve from holiday revelers - he made internal calculations. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eleven weeks. I’m eleven weeks along. Just one more to go before this subsides.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as Ian had, the tiny miracle in his belly caused Anduin to suffer waves and waves of sickness. And much like his first pregnancy, only a good broth and crackers could temporarily quell his illness during his waking hours. Meanwhile, he required a small sedative to sleep through it at night. But at the very least, if this pregnancy continued to follow this similar trajectory, he only needed to suffer seven more days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ugh, how had Anduin forgotten this miserable part of pregnancy? Or, did his mind simply ignore it to satisfy his biological clock? What happened to ‘the second won’t be so bad, Velen’? Lies!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just one more week. One more week of this. Please. Light. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mommy? Are you okay?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anduin opened his eyes, having only just realized then he had closed them in his despair. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Before him, Ian held a box full of heart-adorned bags - a familiar staple for “Love is in the Air” that year. The king smiled; his little boy insisted on making these handmade treats as a reward for their champion’s hard-earned charm bracelets. He figured Ian would grow tired of replenishing their steadily decreasing supply. No, in fact, the prince dutifully remained in the kitchen, helping staff create these wonderful little concoctions for Stormwind’s bravest citizens. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m sorry, baby,” Anduin croaked. “It’s just your brother or sister is making mommy feel not so good again today.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ian nodded to himself as he set his container down beside the clawed foot of his mother’s throne. With a gentle hand, he reached out and petted Anduin’s bloated tummy. “Don’t wiggle around so much,” he pleaded with his sibling. “You’re making mommy sick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anduin’s natural instincts urged him to explain the true cause of his baby sick. After all, he couldn’t quite feel the child in his belly yet. His hormones were strictly to blame for this persistent discomfort, not the spark of life nestled inside him. But, he held his tongue as there existed little need to correct his first baby. Instead, the king smiled, oddly soothed by Ian’s attention. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hm, actually, Anduin no longer feared the need to run to the privy. Not quite at normal, but far more light-headed than gross. And, hunger? Wow, the sensation of hunger rumbled in his stomach! Had Ian healed him somehow? </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ian, could you have someone send me some food?” Anduin murmured, almost afraid to jinx his newfound equilibrium by speaking too loudly.  If the universe heard him, it might be reminded of the torment he should be wallowing in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Soup?” Ian asked. He pulled his hand away; Anduin, to his surprise, remained well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anduin grinned. “And some bread, please.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian’s eyes widened and his jaw slacked, yet he did not question the request. Without another word, he pivoted on his heel and raced out of the throne room. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <span>Anduin purred, soothed by Varian combing his fingers through his hair as they lay in bed together. He didn’t need those small, sweet massages anymore - at least, it seemed - but Anduin had no desire to decline such affection. Instead, he cut the silence in their room with small chirps and chitters. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You seem more lively tonight,” Varian observed with a chuckle. The rich sound sent Anduin’s heart fluttering in his chest, made faster and faster by how his sea-greens sparkled with unbridled mirth. So beautiful, especially framed by his lovely laugh lines. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, how Anduin wanted to reach out and cup his whiskered cheeks, feel those salt-and-pepper hairs prickle at his palm. But, he couldn’t summon enough energy to move his arms out of their blanket cocoon. Instead, he snuggled deeper into his fluffy prison. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>With a small yawn, Anduin explained, almost absent-mindedly. “I no longer feel like I’m on death’s door. Ian might have a talent for natural magic.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Why do you say that?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Anduin closed his eyes and yawned. “He touched my stomach, and I immediately felt much better.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He knew Varian replied to what he said, but Anduin fell asleep before he could register it. </span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos and comments keep the demons of insecurity at bay.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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